


A Conversation in Iowa

by Setcheti



Series: Conversations [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setcheti/pseuds/Setcheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Kirk wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he didn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conversation in Iowa

John Kirk had never had much of anything good to stay about Starfleet, and he could be downright vitriolic if someone brought it up in his presence.  The ‘Fleet had taken his younger brother away from the family farm a quarter of a century before, much against their father’s wishes, leaving the two older brothers to pick up the slack.  Then it had taken George away for good, not even a body or a crock of ashes left to bury in the plot where the rest of the Kirks were laid.  And then, as if that hadn’t been enough, it had filled George’s boy’s head full of nonsense too and off he’d gone –and John had made it plain to his nephew that once he’d gone off with the ‘Fleet he wasn’t welcome back on the farm again.  Nobody’d heard from him since, just over three years he’d been gone now, the boy being smart enough to know that John Kirk meant a thing when he said it.

The people who lived in their little farming community knew all of this, and if they didn’t agree with John they at least respected the family enough that they didn’t talk about the doings of Starfleet in his presence.

Usually.  Today, though, John had come into town to pick up some odds and ends and a load of fertilizer, and he was hearing ‘Starfleet this’ and ‘the ‘Fleet that’ around every corner – they all shut up and looked at him sideways as soon as he came into view, and then started jabbering again as soon as his back was turned.

It was pissing him off  - especially since he didn’t have a clue what they were all excited about this time.  The last time, just a few weeks before, the damned ‘Fleet had screwed up again and let some bastard Romulan break through and attack San Francisco.  Even caught up in the spring planting John had heard about that, and he’d sneered at the simpleminded fools who swallowed the story about the Romulan having been a ‘renegade’ who supposedly wasn’t acting on the orders of the rest of the hornets’ nest that had spawned him.  A hornets’ nest their precious ‘Fleet had stirred up in the first place, out there poking around where they didn’t have any business being in the first place.  

John had been hoping that the incident, coming as it had right behind an identical attack on the planet Vulcan – or what _had_ been a planet called Vulcan and was now so much space dust – would wise some of his neighbors up, but as near as he could see it hadn’t done one lick of good; the damned fools had just been happy that Starfleet had ‘saved’ them.  John, though, knew that the ‘Fleet wasn’t about saving, it was about taking.  Taking their tax money, taking their resources, taking their young men and women.  All it returned was death and, now, destruction.

His last stop for the day was the local feed store, and his scowl deepened when he saw the cluster of men gathered around the store’s small holo-vid screen off at the other end of the counter.  John leaned on the counter and dinged the dusty little old-fashioned bell beside the register with an irritated finger.  “If this is gonna become the local bar, get me a beer, Larry,” he called over to the broad-shouldered man who was fussing over the screen.

Larry, the store’s owner, straightened up to about an inch taller than his friend’s rangy six-foot-one frame and rolled his eyes, pushing a hand through his silvering sand-blond hair.  “You bring me one first.  Come back in half an hour, John – or maybe make it an hour, just to be on the safe side.  Don’t know how long this ceremony thing is gonna last.”

John snorted.  So that was it.   “Some of us have work to do.”

“That would be all of us,” a slightly older man whose salt-and-pepper hair was obviously thinning snapped at him.  “But this is only gonna happen once and I want to see it, so either pipe down or come back.”

John raised an eyebrow.  “What are they gonna do, Josh, try to blow up the planet again?”

“No, they’re recognizin’ the fella who kept that damned Romulan from doin’ it the first time,” Josh snapped at him, half turning on the chair he’d appropriated from somewhere in the back of the store; Josh Martin had a temper that matched John’s, and although they were friends as well as neighbors sometimes things could get a little colorful between the two of them.  “He’s a real live hero.  Saved Earth, tried to save Vulcan, and killed that Romulan.”  The black eyes narrowed.  “I’d think you’d be interested in that part, seein’ as how they say it was the same Romulan that killed George.”

John’s scowl deepened.  “Don’t talk to me about my brother.”

“Then come back in an hour, John.”  Larry was more sympathetic, but not otherwise budging.  “I’m sure they’ll bring him up at least once, he’s a big deal to those ‘Fleet people.  But if you’re gonna wait here, you have to keep your mouth shut.  I’m with Josh, this is once in a lifetime and I don’t want to say I missed it.” 

“Fine.”  John leaned a little harder on the counter, stubbornly staying put while making sure he wasn’t able to see the screen.  Thinking about George made him mad, as always, but he was marginally pleased to hear that his younger brother’s killer had finally been taken care of.  Even if it had taken the damned ‘Fleet twenty-five years to get around to it.  And not that any of them had any business being out there anyway.

A blast of music trumpeted tinnily out of the vid-screen’s tiny speakers, the ‘Fleet’s ceremonial march.  After a few minutes, the music faded and an authoritative voice called for everyone to be at ease.  The voice then proceeded to tell them about the tragedy of all of the lives that had been lost, and new, younger voices began to read out the lists of the dead in turn, ship by ship.  To John’s surprise, they started with Commander George Kirk and the other casualties from the _Farragut_ before moving on to each ship that had been lost in the more recent battles, and then to the civilian and other Earthside victims who had died in the attack on San Francisco.  

The reading of the lists went on for a long, long time; it sounded to John like hardly a ship must be left in the sky.  Finally, though, the authoritative voice thanked the others, and then said, “Would that there were hours and breath enough for us to similarly honor the other six million innocent lives that have been lost.  But as there are not, we can only offer our deepest and most sincere condolences to those Vulcans who are still with us.  Ambassador.”

“My people thank you, Admiral,” a deeper, lightly accented voice replied.  “We are humbled and gratified by the kindness you have shown those of our race who yet survive, especially as many of you are also at this time mourning grievous losses of your own.”  He cleared his throat.  “Our gratitude goes out to all of you, our neighbors…our friends.”

“We are honored to have you with us, Ambassador,” the admiral replied.  “And although I know you are already selecting a new homeworld to colonize, Earth will always welcome you.  Our home is your home.”    

The ambassador thanked him again, and then another authoritative voice ordered the assembly to attention.  “Amidst our grief,” the admiral intoned.  “We still have cause to celebrate.  During what may go down as the worst two days in the history of Starfleet, a new ship with a crew as green as grass left her dock for the first time.  She found herself the last ship standing on the field of battle, and through the tenacity and bravery of her officers she emerged victorious and saved not only the remainder of our fleet but also the planet we call home.  To the _Enterprise_!”

The assembly echoed him in a roar.  “To the _Enterprise_!”

The admiral waited until the echoes had died before speaking again.  “I have two special honors to award today, to two officers from that very ship.  Captain Christopher Pike, come forward”

John started; Pike was the man who had come around asking about George, years back.  Supposedly the one who’d filled Jimmy’s head full of nonsense, too.  Unable to help himself, he moved so he could see the screen.  Yep, the man was older but that was him…but he was in a wheelchair now and someone was pushing him up to the platform where the heavyset, white-haired admiral was waiting.  “Captain Pike handed himself over to the renegade in order to give his men a chance to try to save Vulcan and to alert Earth to the danger she was facing,” the admiral announced.  “He knew, better than many others might have, that the renegade Nero would probably kill him; he endured hours of torture, and refused to let go of his life, his honor, or his sanity.  Starfleet is proud to welcome this man to the ranks of the Admiralty today.  Admiral Christopher Pike!”       

This time the roar was from applause, and louder than before, while the admiral presented Pike with his new rank.  The two men saluted each other, then shook hands, and the admiral said something to Pike that the microphones didn’t pick up before gesturing for the chair to be wheeled back.  John didn’t bother to go back to his spot at the counter; he was curious now, he wanted to see the rest.

Again the admiral waited for quiet.  “As you all know, however, we can’t have an admiral in command of a starship – at least, not for very long.”  A ripple of laughter went through the assembly, and he smiled.  “So, we need a captain.  And Starfleet could think of no man better suited for the job than the cadet who was thrust into command by circumstance and proceeded against all odds to save Earth, defeat the renegade, and rescue his captain.”  He dropped his voice to a more serious note.  “History is being made today, because today we commission the youngest captain in Starfleet history.  And today we honor the young man who not only defeated our most dangerous enemy…but who embodied the ideals of Starfleet so far as to offer the mercy of justice to the renegade Nero and his crew, in spite of the fact that he was addressing his father’s murderer.  Cadet James Tiberius Kirk, step forward!”

John felt the blood drain out of his face as the boy he’d disowned three years ago and hadn’t set eyes on since stepped out of the line of uniforms and approached the admiral.  His nephew looked tired, even a little drawn, but his blue eyes were shining as he stood there like a perfect officer and let the admiral put a medal on him and affix his new rank.  The admiral announced him as Captain James T. Kirk, and then directed him to go take command of the _Enterprise_ from Admiral Pike – which the boy did, formally, it being all too clear from the look on his face that he knew exactly what he was taking responsibility for.

Of course he did.  He’d saved Earth, and his captain, and killed the Romulan renegade.  He’d already been in command, hadn’t he?  The assembly, released by the admiral, was roaring again but in a much less organized fashion now, and they were starting to mill around.  John’s nephew was shaking hands with a young Vulcan, then exchanging a hug with a slightly older dark-haired man who was also in uniform, and then the crowd was on them and the cameras let the view fade while a female voice offered a recap of the ceremony, reiterated the fact that history had just been made, and stated that Iowa must be very proud right now.

John Kirk took a step back to the counter, feeling as though someone had yanked a rug out from underneath him.  It took him a moment to realize that Larry was talking to him.  “If you weren’t such a hard-headed idiot, you wouldn’t be so shocked,” the store owner was saying, not unkindly.  “It’s been all over the news for weeks, John.  Some of the stories floating around are just about unbelievable.”

“And most of ‘em are true,” Josh piped in, hauling himself out of the chair he’d been using.  “I checked.  Our Jimmy’s a bona-fide hero.  And the people I talked to say he deserves command of that ship.”

“So I’ve heard as well,” Larry agreed.  “That Vulcan boy he shook hands with?  That’s the ambassador’s son – it was the two of them that rescued Pike from the renegade.”

 John’s blue eyes narrowed.  “You all knew about this?”

Larry shrugged.  “You never want to hear about anything Starfleet – or lately about your nephew either, since he left to join up.  But I am kind of surprised that your boys didn’t say something to you about it; it’s been all the talk in town for a while now, they had to have heard at least some of the stories.”  He cocked a bushy straw-colored eyebrow.  “And I’m guessing that means you’re not down as Jimmy’s next of kin either, or else the ‘Fleet would have contacted you when he got back.”

“He was stuck in their medical center up at the Academy for near two weeks, in quarantine” Josh elaborated.  “Nobody knows why, drove those news people crazy that they couldn’t find out what was goin’ on.  He looked okay to me just now, though.”

“He looked a little off,” John contradicted absently.  Had everyone in town known?  Of course, he hadn’t really been in town lately, and he wasn’t sure his sons had either.  Farming tended to keep you close to home and minding your own business…and he was certain one of his boys would have said something if they’d known.  They wouldn’t have let him go into town without warning him.

Well, Billy might have; his youngest son, who was still five years older than Jimmy, had never been happy about John writing his cousin out of the family for taking off to join the ‘Fleet.  He’d said to his father’s face, more than once, that they should all be happy Jimmy had found a direction to go in that didn’t lead to nowhere or someplace worse – because that was where he’d been headed before the ‘Fleet had come for him and no one could deny it.  Of course John didn’t hold with his boys back-talking him, even though they were grown men with families of their own now, and so his relationship with his youngest had been strained for a while.  John wondered if Billy was the one listed as Jimmy’s next of kin.  He’d just about decided to head out to Billy’s and ask him when he remembered that it was mid-afternoon and he still needed to pick up his fertilizer if he wanted the south field to get planted the next day.  John Kirk had always prided himself on being a man who kept his priorities firmly in their places, just like his father and grandfather before him, so his decision was quickly made.

 

Josh came out onto the store’s loading dock just after the truck pulled away with its load, and he stood beside Larry and watched it go with a frown creasing his lined face.  “He’s headin’ straight home?”

“Yep.  Got planting to do tomorrow.”

“Think he’ll go ask Billy about it tonight, then?”

Larry sighed and shook his head.  “Most likely not.  Maybe in a week or so he’ll find the time, but until then…well, the man said it himself, he’s got work to do.”  He dragged his gaze away from the truck’s dust, seeing that it wasn’t turning off in a way that would take it anyplace but back to the old Kirk farm with its fertilizer-hungry south field.  “I’m betting he thinks Billy’s down as his cousin’s next of kin.”

“Billy wishes he was,” was the quiet response.  “But he’s not, so no one would tell him anything at all.  Think I found out more than he did about what was goin’ on, and that’s just a damned shame.”

“Sure is,” Larry agreed.  He looked back at the road, saw that the dust was still going in a straight line and shook his head again.  Some people had more stubborn than sense sometimes, that was for sure.  Especially if their last name was Kirk.   


End file.
